Stream of Consciousness
by sarramaks
Summary: Set during Emperor Mage. An odd oneshot that needed writing. Please read and review.


_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tamora Pierce, all mistakes and typos belong to me._

Stream of Consciousness

The stars flicker above us and I could name them all. But tonight is not a night for that; instead there are enemies to mingle with and foes to entertain with this fools' parade. I dislike such formalities, but they are one of the disappointments of my position, I am the King's mage and friend and here my duty lies. I may not serve my native country; instead I have bound myself to a land that I have chosen, one far different from this in more ways than one. One where freedom needn't be sold, and it is a right rather than a gift.

I detest the cold that can strike back at home for it does not suit me well. Snow and ice and chilled winds from the north are not for me. Here, the heat is of my homeland; a roasting sun baking all to rise, yet the sweat drops down me, trickling fine patterns descending my back as if my skin has forgotten how to tolerate the warmth. Yet I do not believe it is the heat that causes the sweat, but the scorching recollections that have toiled my mind these past few nights, and even days. So it is not the sun's fault, but mine, the follies of a misspent youth that are now running close to my heels, like nightmares with wings, desperate to catch their next victim and throw it into the depths of a burning death. Or maybe just leave it here, in this dusty place, where a caged bird sings of a life where it was never free.

I have no desire to recall such a past as mine. It is a thing I wash with memory, dimming some of the 'brighter' moments. Back home my past life is a pale light reflected in a mirror that I can blot out with my hand and pretend is not there. I learned to try to let it go three years back, when a future seemed a possibility rather than a thing discussed in front of the moon. Yet here, in Carthak, the light in that mirror shines brighter as the Emperor Mage passes by, his made-up face a mask that does not cover all to the trained eye, and well trained am I in seeing past those kohled eyes and jewelled fingers that know precisely where to touch and where to maim.

I wish to be long gone from here. Nothing good can come of such a place. The air is filled with a potent simmer of something brewing, on the verge of exploding, the heat at the very point where people can stand no more. My blood boils thick with dreaded expectancy, and my enthusiasm for this excursion grows weary. I would like to leave, except my King won't let me, and I won't let myself. I have a sense of duty that stretches beyond my sense of impending treachery.

And she is here.

Leaving this dread place would mean leaving her.

And that is not an option.

I can watch as she is courted by other men; their eyes about her as if she is something curiously unusual, the first of a newly discovered species. Some will wonder if her name betrays her, named after her mother, her father unknown. If her mother's tendencies have been inherited, and whether she will be as wild _sleeping _as the name of her gift suggests.

Am I taunted by such thoughts? Yes, and it is undoubtedly plain for all to see as I watch her, pretending to be unaware of the female eyes that are watching me, eyes that are filled with memories dipped in rose paint, glossing over the reasons why am I no longer looking back at them and am instead studying a woman who is my junior by almost half my age.

Yet I know if I close my eyes anyone can be her, for that moment, if I allow myself to be captured by fantasy and use the magic of my mind to let me believe. The imagination is a powerful tool, especially when honed over years of never attaining the heart's deepest desires.

That muscle contracts and expands with growing rapidity, my head lightens and feels as if it should float away. I squeeze my hands, checking that I am real as she looks my way, and smiles.

She won't leave while I am here; I am her teacher, her friend, the person she misses. I do not understand the reasons behind her thoughts, but I know of them. If I could bottle female intuition then I would surely no longer have to work. I wish she would depart. Then my heart would be still and I could focus on the Emperor and what ever trial he may set for me. And create diversions that I would not wish her to see, such as with the owner of the eyes that are boring through my robes.

Our eyes meet and she smiles once more, a warm, open smile that defrosts the highest mountains on the coldest days and makes me think of imagery that does not suit one as tall as I. Neither of us will leave. The bond is tied.

And maybe that will be our greatest undoing.

And Ozorne's most powerful weapon.


End file.
